Infected
by someonesayriot
Summary: Before the special infected caught the virus, they were all people. People with families, lives, dreams... and who never expected the change to fall on them.


_A/N: _Hey everyone! So... Multiple oneshots, my depiction/ideas of how each of the special infected came to be. Rated for violence/gore and mild language. I hope they all end up sounding okay; writing as infected is quite the experiment. Anyway, thanks for reading, and I look forward to what you have to say. :)_ -Riot_

_

* * *

_

**The Hunter**

The front door slammed shut.

His wife appeared from the kitchen, a smile on her face as she walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist. Sighing, he dipped his face into the crook of her neck, basking in her warmth, her scent that vaguely resembled that of cinnamon filling his nose. He shivered. Suddenly she took a step away, giving him a concerned look.

"Are you okay?" She asked quietly. His face had lost all of its colour and dark circles lined his eyes. He shook his head slowly, turning away from his wife to fall backward onto the couch. She tried to give him a sympathetic smile, pulling the blanket off of the back of the couch and placing it on top of him. He smiled weakly, appreciative of the slight warmth it provided. "Did something happen at the lab? That may have made you sick, I mean."

"Nah, just another normal day," he said with another weak grin. By contract and legal obligations, he wasn't allowed to tell her about the little chemical spill they'd had. But he could lie, having years of practice under his belt. Sometimes it was hard, though. She cared about him so much… it would be devastating once she knew the truth. He knew, though. He was the one who tested and worked with the formulas, and he knew what was going to happen. He was terrified for the world, but he couldn't say a word. If everything was going to hell anyway, he might as well make sure his family had a few more days after he was gone. "Honey?"

"Yeah? Do you need something?" She asked quietly, standing to return to the kitchen. For a moment he just watched her, memorizing everything he could. Never letting his mind wander from how much he loved her.

"Yeah, actually… in about a week, we should go on a vacation. Let's go south."

"W-what? All of a sudden? I don't know about that… and south? How far south?"

"As far south as we need to go. There's nothing to worry about… you can take off work easy, and my boss… well, he knows I'm going to need a break soon," he said, his voice lowering unintentionally. "The kids can take a few days off, they're good students. We've got some extra money stored up for a vacation… please? Let's do it." He smiled sheepishly. His wife looked at him apprehensively, but eventually gave him a small smile.

"It _has_ been awhile since we took a vacation, hasn't it?" She paused, looking out the window. It was going to storm later. "Okay, let's go." She giggled, wrapping her arms around him. He was careful not to breathe directly on her, just in case. He couldn't be sure how it spread. "Will you be okay by then, though?"

He paused, taking in a sharp breath of air. "I'll be fine. Just trust me."

* * *

Three days had passed. It was faster than he'd expected.

Apparently other workers were sick as well. It tore him apart inside to think of it… the hospital they were at had been quarantined the day before, in weak attempts to keep the infection in. He could only hope that it wasn't airborne… he hadn't tested airborne abilities before the vial had been broken. This was bad. So much testing left to be done, and it was already escaping.

He looked quietly at his wife through the plastic surrounding the outside of the building. It was too thick to hear through, and he'd turned off his speaker for a while. His wife's hands were over her face, tears leaking through. He couldn't stand to hear her cry; he was having enough trouble watching. He couldn't even comfort her, not through the wall between them.

He was shaking violently, wrapped in a sweater and blanket upon blanket. It was becoming more difficult to see, and he had to strain himself to not vomit with his wife and kids there. His head was pounding. He watched silently as his wife finally looked up, reaching over to turn on her speaker.

"What really happened?" She asked. He looked at the ground.

"I'm not supposed to say," he muttered quietly, forgetting his own speaker was still off. She got the hint, however, and politely asked the kids to leave them for a few minutes. When they were gone, she leaned in closer, wiping her face. Straining his muscles, he managed the bump the back of his hand against the switch, and his speaker groaned a breath of static. "T-there was a c-chemical spill. A f-few of us g-got infected with…" He tensed for a moment, repressing vomit. "Inf-fected with a c-cure we've been w-working on for about a y-year now."

"Is that why you're quarantined? Can it spread? If it's a cure, why is this happening? What exactly…"

"I don't know. W-we never finished testing the n-new prototype. It was s-supposed to be a…" He paused, breathing. "A c-cure for major diseases. In this stage, though, it's v-very dangerous, d-deadly even. A-all I know is t-that it can s-spread… people may b-be immune, but we w-won't know. CEDA is w-working on a vaccination to give people t-to keep it from spreading. B-but don't tell anyone, they're keeping it under wraps f-for now… hoping it won't s-spread…"

She hesitated, but nodded after a moment. "And what about you?"

"H-human reactions weren't being t-tested; too soon for that. It can't be d-determined what reaction c-certain people may have. I'm going to d-die, though. I know that much," he said quietly, watching tears stroll down her face again. He wanted so bad to touch her skin again, feel her warmth. He wanted things to go back to normal. "Can you d-do me a favour?"

"Anything," she said, wiping her face again. He looked at the ground and began.

"When I die… as s-soon as I die… get on a p-plane and fly to New Orleans. S-stay there… I have f-family there, you could even s-stay with t-them," he said quickly. She stared at him, dumbfounded. "Just trust m-me. If this ends like I t-think it m-might… you're going to want to b-be there. Take the kids. D-don't stay here… and if anyone ever asks you to come to a CEDA facility with them, or take a vaccination, d-don't. You can't trust them."

"What do you mean? I thought CEDA was trying to fix everything," she said quietly, glancing over her shoulder. He shook his head.

"That's what they keep s-saying, but I d-don't believe it. No one knows how the c-cure got spilled, it was secure… they had no back-up plans for s-something like this, and when I left w-work that day, they didn't seem concerned. I asked them what they w-would do, they didn't say anything. I just think-" He stopped suddenly, the quiet thud of foot steps echoing in his ears. He didn't dare talk about CEDA in front of doctors, God forbid police or security guards; it was a risk on his family that he wasn't willing to take. "Now, bring the kids back. I want… I want to say g-goodbye."

She didn't say anything, and he took that she understood. His two kids returned not a moment later, staring at him sadly. Two boys, four and eight, his pride and joy. What had he done? What had CEDA done? This was all going to vanish, and it was all CEDA's fault. He couldn't even hug his own children; a sudden wave of anger nearly overwhelmed him. The cold in his blood chilled it, though.

"Daddy… what's happening?" His oldest asked. He suddenly found himself in tears, trying to smile through picturing what might happen.

"I don't know… I don't know," was all he could manage. It horrified him to see his youngest was starting to cry; he banged his small fists on the hard plastic. He was saying he wanted his dad.

That's when the doctors had to take him away from the family he would never see again. He shook so hard it was difficult to speak, but he managed to get out as many goodbyes and I love you's as possible. He wished the last sight of his family he could see of them was a happy one, but it was all despair. He felt like, in an indirect way, everything was his fault. What was happening to him, what was happening to his family, and what would happen to the rest of the world.

He sat quietly in his room, his blood boiling underneath his frozen skin. He could barely see the things around him, a small selection of his vision still good enough to make shapes and colours. His peripheral vision was gone, and when looking straight, all but what was directly in front of him was pitch black. On top of it all, it hurt like nothing he'd ever felt before. He clenched his teeth in agony, between his eyes and how devastating cold he was, between the infection kicking in faster and faster, and knowing what was happening to all the others who were in the same position as him. Down the hall he heard someone scream in pain, and a painful chill ran up his spine.

An hour and he couldn't take it. He stumbled out of the blankets and with his vision so lost, he tripped and felt around trying to find something. He tripped over his bag on the floor, and fell to his knees, grabbing it and fumbling with the zipper. Finally it was open, and he reached in, his nearly frozen hands struggling to rip tape off of a role of duct tape he'd brought with him, in hopes he could work to find anything to help before the infection kicked in. Desperate to keep the warmth in, he wrapped the tape messily around his sleeves and wrists, the ankles of his pants. It didn't help as much as he wanted; as he sat there, trying to get warmer, pulling the blankets back over him. He fiddled with papers and materials in his bag, trying to find something before it was too late. He strained to read his work, holding the papers close to his face. Despite the pain, it all started to click. The notes, the materials, the plans; they weren't for a cure at all. CEDA quotes were riddled with lies, hypocrisies he'd witnessed himself. How could he just be noticing this? What was CEDA doing?

The papers slid from his hands and fluttered across the shining, plastic floor of the hospital room. What was left of his vision finally vanished, and he couldn't see. He was blind, and his eyes were burning like a doctor was operating on them right there. He screamed in agony, throwing his hands to his face and holding his eyes. He screamed for them to stop, but he knew, somewhere inside him, that he was alone. He was only alone for a few minutes, however. He couldn't hear doctors trying to figure out what was wrong over his own screaming, and he couldn't feel them trying to restrain him because his skin was too cold.

He couldn't take it. He was so angry, in so much pain, it was too much to handle. Before he realized what he was doing, the pain started to leave, and his screams were replaced by those of others, ones he didn't recognize. Liquid rolled down his face, just warm enough for him to feel it. He clawed until his eyes didn't hurt anymore.

His skin felt hard now, not so much cold. He could feel warm grasps of doctors against him, and he strained to get away. He knew in the back of his mind that if they got him, it would be the end of him. He wanted to see his family one last time. He wanted to see them smile. So he struggled against the doctors, screaming things at the top of his lungs, until his voice was hoarse and dry. In blind rage, he swung at them, and he felt his fingers smash against a few faces. He didn't know if he was doing any damage, but he felt them let go. He took off quickly. Even though he couldn't see, he knew where he was going. He could feel it inside of him, and it was strange. But he ignored it, pressing on.

Finally his palms slammed against hard plastic. He could feel the warmth from outside against his hands, so he clawed at the door. Outside he could hear thousands of people talking perfectly clear; or rather, yelling now that they could see him. Shocked, he stepped back from the door, grabbing his ears. He shook it away, though, returning to the door. Pounding and pounding and screaming as loud as he could until finally enough doctors were on him to hold him down. He could hear his wife screaming outside but it was too crowded by all the other words to make out what she was saying. He wondered if she was disappointed in him, if that's why she was yelling. Or maybe the kids had done something wrong and he wasn't there to discipline them, and his wife was mad. What a terrible father, a terrible husband he was. The thoughts made him all the angrier about everything.

His rage took him over. He bit and clawed and moved until every last hand was off of him, until he could feel warm blood on his mouth and hands. Growling, he jumped to dodge one coming from behind. He yelled at them, but couldn't make the words. It was suddenly overwhelming, and he couldn't control what he was doing.

He couldn't remember why he was angry.

He didn't know what he was now, but his vision came back. It was fuzzy and everything was yellow, but it was there. Or maybe it was in his head. But everything he saw he could feel and move, he knew that much. As he continued down the halls of the hospital, his vision continued to get better. Everything inanimate was yellow, and the warmer things were, the darker they were. He hid from doctors, who were more orange-red in colour. He knew that they were looking for him; he could hear their whispers to each other as they rushed around.

But as time passed and his vision got better, he couldn't remember things. He forgot where he was and what things he saw were for, and he forgot words to describe things properly, and he forgot himself. He was so angry and he couldn't remember anything that happened. All he knew was that _they_ had done this to him; the ones that glowed in his sight, that spoke a different language. They were the ones that made him forget, that made him angry. So he growled and made his way through the hospital, trying to plan his next move.

He inhaled and a thick, meaty smell filled his nostrils. It smelled disgusting… so he followed it, out of curiosity, like the animal he was. He didn't understand why something so repulsive was bringing him in, until he realized what the scent was. _Them_. Eventually he found his target, a female doctor who was wandering silently down the halls. For a moment the anger vanished as he realized one of _them _was close enough to hurt for what they'd done. He waited until she was close enough and jumped on her; the scent was overwhelming, and it made him feel sick. He was so pleased with his catch, though, he couldn't contain himself.

"Please, stop!" She screamed. It sounded foreign. He only recognized the distress in the vocals.

"Get off her!" Another voice yelled. He didn't understand what it said, but it sounded threatening. He moved only for a moment to swat it against the neck. The man fell down with a thud.

All the anger built up began to fizzle away as he clawed at her until she finally stopped screaming. The glowing red began to leave her and she blended in with the ground. She wasn't a threat anymore, and it had been so easy to get rid of her… he began to wonder if he could do it with the rest of them.

He sniffed around until he caught the scent of water, what he assumed was outside. Much to his happiness, there was a small crack in the plastic keeping him in, and the weakened spot seemed easy to claw through. The world outside of the building smelled odd; a combination of sweet sugars and pungent creatures. He wanted to smell more sugar, more water, and _they _were ruining that too.

He climbed up the back of the building, looking down at all the people. Red splotches just waiting to be drained of their colour. They weren't the only things down there, though. Blue-tinted splotches scattered everywhere, distance between them and the enemies. Some purple, which were with the red ones. His instincts told him that the other colours were not the problem. If anything, there were allies. They wanted the same revenged against the creatures as he did. He was not the only one.

He screamed in anger.

The allies responded, moving forward, quicker than he expected. In that moment, he realized he was leading them now. His noise drew them in to where the wrong-doers were. With a wicked grin, he leapt off the roof to join them in the punishment the creatures so rightfully deserved.

He picked up a single scent and made his move. Lunging again off the wall of the hospital, he slammed into a red figure, which screamed so loud it almost made him back off. The allies did not stop, though, even through shrieks and confusing speech, so neither did he. He was a leader now, and had to lead by example. His fists pounded down, clawing the figure until the screaming finally began to die away. Warm blood bubbled against his hands, and soon against his mouth, the organs in the person still pulsing against his cold skin. It didn't take long for the pounding muscle in its chest to stop, for the blood to run over onto the ground, the final breath to drag from their lungs, for him to pull away and smile at his accomplishment. Around him, his allies were having even better luck than him. Some red ones got away, but most of them were quickly losing colour. Some were even turning blue, becoming what they had created. He glanced down at his kill. It was strange; this one smelled different than the rest. It smelled sweeter. Like… cinnamon. He wasn't sure how he knew the word, or what it meant, so he disregarded it.

He caught another whiff of a creature running past. Lunging, he took off to finish what he'd started.


End file.
